


Sakura

by vaguesalvation



Category: Dir en grey, Jrock
Genre: Dark, Drug Use, Gen, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguesalvation/pseuds/vaguesalvation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been his best friend and his worst enemy. He could only hope it would be his savior as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sakura

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic depictions of intravenous drug use and suicide attempts.

The sound of the dead bolt was assaulting. Everything was louder when he wanted no one to hear. He looked at the reflection of his naked body and his lips curled, repulsed. Dried come caked in sporadic spots across the surface of his chest, across which a long jagged gash had been cut. The blood had bubbled to the surface, dripping and clotting in a pattern that would be breathtakingly beautiful to his fans. However, he was disgusted, feeling little more than a shell of a human being that no longer deserved the gifts given to him.

His band. His lover. His words. His voice.

His Life.

His lungs burned with the need for oxygen; he’d stopped breathing as soon as his feet had hit the gleaming linoleum floor. He could practically hear Shinya chiding him, whispering in his ear, wrapping strong fingers around his throat until he resigned and sucked in a breath. But Shinya wasn’t with him now, wasn’t there to bring him back to himself. He was lost in the deep recesses of his mind, and just as always, he found it dark and inviting--a deep hole of nothingness that would swallow him and keep him safe from the world outside.

Thoughts of what would happen if he lost consciousness entered his mind, mixing with the distorted images and half-formed sentences. His brain wouldn’t allow him to suffocate. He would begin to breath before his limp body hit the hard surface underneath him. They would find him the morning and he would be forced to continue the way he had been. He allowed his lungs to fill at the thought of failing.

Failure had become a regular thing for him recently.

He set the spoon and the vial on the counter, reaching over to run the sink water. It would muffle any noise his body made without his permission. In his hand, he still clutched the used razor blade with startling desperation. He was certain he’d already cut into his palm, but he was so numb to everything now, the pain was dulled to a faraway itch.

His skin crawled and each individual muscle in his body contracted before relaxing again. He held very still for a moment, shifting his eyes from his reflection to the vial and back to his reflection.

A failure, indeed.

His body seemed to move on it’s own after that, going through motions so familiar he thought that maybe his brain wasn’t needed for them anymore. He simply reacted to the ache--the need. He popped the vial open and tilted it upside-down over the spoon.

A small chunk of condensed fine, white powder fell out, cradled almost lovingly by the charred silver metal.

He didn’t remember where he’d gotten the syringe; who had pressed the needle into his hand, but right now it didn’t matter. He no longer had to be careful about sharing tools, not that he had been particularly careful in the past. But he felt better knowing that there would be no chance of him contracting some blood-borne disease.

He cupped his hand under the running water, allowing a small amount to pool in his curved palm. Acting quickly, before the water escaped though his fingertips, he pressed the tip of the needle in the water, drawing up a small amount of the liquid. He let the rest fall into the sink below him.

His face turned pensive, his head cocked as he transferred the small amount of water to the silver spoon, watching the fine powder mix and dissolve. The water took on a different color than he was used to, a thicker, denser white. He smiled at the heavily concentrated mixture in front of him, praying that it would release him like the dealer had said.

He stared with wide eyes at the fluid collected in the spoon, filling the shallow hollow. It was the purest of whites, the cleanest. He laughed at the irony. Reality liked to disguise itself within the prettiest packages, liked to hide behind false security.

He liked to hide behind it as well.

Carefully, he dipped a cotton ball in the spoon, soaking the liquid up into the soft fibers. He watched as every ounce of the drug disappeared into the cotton, willing himself not to panic.

With the same kind of urgency as before, he sucked the mixture from the cotton ball into the syringe.

He took the length of fabric from the counter, wrapping it around his biceps and using his teeth to help tie it off. He hadn’t really studied the fabric before, but as he looked at it now, he recognized it as the scarf Shinya had worn at their last show in Japan. It was clean--free of bloodstains and dust from the dirty bus bathroom floor--unlike the other items he’d used as make-shift tourniquets in the past

Breathing deeply, waiting for the usual vein to emerge, he leaned his head against the cold tile wall. He closed his eyes, awaiting the rush that he knew would come as soon as he administered the drug into his system. He knew what to expect, which made the anticipation far worse.

He let himself drop slowly to the floor.

Inhaling, holding the breath in his lungs, feeling the oxygen settle in his chest, he brought the syringe to the bulging vein on the inside of his forearm. He didn’t expel the air when he pushed the needle in through the skin, reveling the pain of the puncture and of the carbon dioxide fighting to break free.

He choked on a sob when deep red blood backwashed into the syringe, his heart beating so wildly in his chest he thought for a moment he wouldn’t have to use the drugs if the organ decided to give out on him now.

He watched the red mix with the white for a moment. It was fitting, the two things that had made his life seem real working together to end it. The thought made him feel oddly at ease with his decision. He closed his eyes, releasing the air in his lungs.

He didn’t notice the burn of the drug pushed into his vein.

It had been his best friend and his worst enemy. He could only hope that it would be his savior as well.


End file.
